


It Starts With a Lighthouse

by comefeedtherainn



Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Atlas is Not Frank Fontaine, Atlas is Real, Jack adopts a little sister, M/M, POV Alternating, not exactly Nice Atlas but not exactly Evil Bastard Atlas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-08-21 23:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16586045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comefeedtherainn/pseuds/comefeedtherainn
Summary: Atlas is a man who does what he must for the greater good. Jack is a man who does what is good, because he must. They are both trapped, their chains simply of a different make.





	1. Chapter 1

_“In what country is there a place for people like me?” - Andrew Ryan_

* * *

**JACK**

The first time Jack heard the voice, it felt as if he’d come up from underwater.

“Would you kindly pick up that radio?”

Jack did with a trembling hand, his eyes wide as he kept his gaze on the window. The woman who had destroyed his transport appeared to have gone, her screams no longer echoing against the walls, but the corpse she’d left behind - Johnny, he’d heard someone say - still bled steadily onto the carpet.

“Wh-who are you?” he asked weakly, gripping the radio tightly in his fist. He was afraid to raise his voice too much, lest the shrieking woman come back for him.

“I’m Atlas,” the man on the other end replied. “I don’t know who you are, or how you managed to survive that plane crash, but you’re trapped here, now, just like the rest of us. I aim to keep you alive.”

Jack swallowed thickly, his throat dry. “I don’t understand.”

“Later. First things first, we need to get you to higher ground,” Atlas told him. His voice was calm, soothing, a charming Irish lilt. Jack found the sound of it eased his tension, if just a bit.

“Now,” Atlas continued. “Take a breath, and then step out of the bathysphere. Don’t worry; I won’t leave you twisting in the wind.”

Jack paused, not so sure about all that. But the ‘bathysphere,’ as Atlas had called it, was busted. Sparks still fell from the punctures the crazed woman from before had left in her wake, and the lights on the console were no longer lit. Only way to go now, was forward.

He reached and slowly pushed open the door, wincing at the horrible creaking that was sure to draw attention. He stepped in the pool of Johnny’s blood, and grunted in disgust as he scrambled away. The hall he’d found himself in was dark, a few flickering lights his only source of navigation. It smelled dank, like an old basement, mold and grime covering the walls and floors. He approached the window on the far wall and pressed his forehead to the glass, stared out into the blue-tinged view of Rapture. A city at the bottom of the ocean. Insanity.

“Turn left,” came Atlas’ voice, and Jack jumped, looking around suspiciously.

“Are you watching me?”

“I can see you through the security cameras,” Atlas told him dismissively. “Would you kindly turn left, now, and go on ‘til I tell you.”

Jack turned left and walked, slowly and with his eyes flitting all over the walls and ceilings. He swore he could hear rustling up above, but the light was too dim to be sure. Beneath his feet he noticed were posters, covered in dirt and footprints but still legible picket signs.

RYAN DOESN’T OWN US.

WE’RE NOT YOUR PROPERTY.

RAPTURE IS DEAD.

“Who’s Ryan?” Jack asked, his feet still moving as he craned his neck to look behind him. He took in all of the abandoned suitcases, surrounded by signs declaring that bathysphere travel was off-limits indefinitely. “Why did he try to keep people here?”

“All in due time, boyo. Keep movin’. We gotta draw her out of hidin’.”

“Her? You mean that woman from before?” Jack asked tensely. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s a Splicer.”

“Wha-”

“Soon. You’re gonna have to trust me,” Atlas said firmly. “Can you do that?”

Jack sighed heavily, shrugging at no one and looking around helplessly. “I guess,” he breathed.

He went quiet as he rounded the corner, met with an empty room and the soft echo of rattling breath. Heavy shadows were cast on all corners by the rubble and slabs of concrete that occupied most of the floor; Rapture appeared to be falling apart. It was a wonder there was still anyone down here. He slowed his steps, placing his feet carefully so as not to make any noise.

“Little closer,” Atlas murmured over the radio, before he was interrupted by the Splicer woman leaping down from the ceiling, grabbing Jack by the shoulders and shrieking into his face. Her face was marled, the left side almost appearing melted with the eye bulging and the corner of her mouth pulled down. Her skin was mottled, pale and sickly with signs of infection all over. She wore makeup, but it was faded, settled into the crevices of her skin, and in unnaturally bright colors.

He almost panicked, but didn’t even have time to shout before a noisy gunshot sounded from somewhere in the shadows, and a spurt of blood flew out of the woman’s temple. Flecks stained Jack’s sweater and cheeks, and he blinked, stepping back and allowing her to collapse to the ground, dead.

Once he’d gotten over the shock, Jack looked around wildly for the source of the assistance. Out of the heavy shadows stepped a man, tall with a handsome face, jet black hair, and a smoking shotgun in his hands.

“Nice work, boyo,” the man said, his voice in stereo with Jack’s radio for a moment before he turned down the volume. “Atlas. Good to meet you,” he continued, holding out a hand.

Jack shook it slowly, still reeling. “I…I’m Jack,” he finally managed. “What’s happening?”

Atlas looked around shiftily, peering over Jack’s shoulder, before motioning for him to follow. “Not here. Come on.”

He turned and approached a doorway, blocked off by rubble and a couple pieces of rotting furniture.

“This way,” Atlas instructed, grabbing a chair and throwing it aside with an ease that betrayed his strength. Jack couldn’t help being a little mesmerized by the man. “Goddamn Splicers sealed Johnny in before they…goddamn Splicers,” he muttered, scowling as he started shoving at a slab of concrete. “Find somethin’ to break this with, would ya?”

Jack nodded, squinting around in the dark for something blunt. After a bit of kicking around he found a rusted tool box, and a heavily used wrench hanging out of it. He snatched it up, jogging back over to Atlas and beginning to chip away at the concrete with the instrument. It wasn’t great, but it did the job.

“I’m sorry about Johnny,” he said eventually, glancing at Atlas out of the corner of the his eye. “Was he a friend?”

“Of a sort,” Atlas nodded. “We…worked together.”

“Here? Work?”

Atlas snorted dryly, cut off by a grunt of effort as they removed the last of the debris and revealed a stairwell just behind. “You’ll be caught up soon enough. Now let’s - shit, get back!”

Jack blinked as Atlas threw out an arm, shoving him aside as what turned out to be a couch set on fire tumbled down the stairs, followed by cackling laughter from above. Jack pressed up against the wall as Atlas grit his teeth, kicking the arm of the chair with his boot and sending it skidding away and farther into the room. He swore quietly and slapped at the bits of his pant leg that had caught some flame, extinguishing it within a few seconds.

“Goddamn Splicers,” he repeated darkly, peering up and nodding when he found no one at the top. “Come on.”

They ascended the stairs, Atlas with his shotgun and Jack with his…fucking wrench. He pursed his lips.

“Do you have a spare gun or something?” he asked. “I feel like this thing’s only gonna get me so far. Like to an early grave.”

Atlas snorted, glancing back at him briefly. “No. But I’ve somethin’ for you that’s better’n any gun.”

“You’re awful cryptic, y’know that? It’s getting less cute.”

Atlas ignored him. They came into some sort of welcome hall, the walls lined with posters that looked like advertisements for products Jack had never heard of before - Plasmids. Against one wall stood a glass-covered sculpture, of a city skyline with a plaque underneath that read:

_Rapture - Nov. 5, 1946. One Man’s Vision - Mankind’s Salvation._

He frowned,passing his finger across the letters. They became more golden as dust came away on his fingertip.

“Alright,” Atlas’ voice interrupted, catching his attention. “Here.” He pressed a syringe into Jack’s palm, it’s contents blue and glowing in a way Jack had never witnessed. Something about it made him uneasy, and he hesitated to close his fist around the thing.

“What is this?” he asked slowly, quirking an eyebrow at Atlas distrustfully.

“That’s a Plasmid,” Atlas told him, crossing his arms over his chest. “That there is a better weapon than anything else you’ll find ‘round here. You inject it once, and it gives ya the power of a god. Shoot lightnin’, spit fire, whatever you please.”

Jack snorted once, even smiling a bit before realizing that Atlas wasn’t smiling back. “That’s impossible. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Not impossible, boyo. Not down here,” Atlas told him seriously.

Jack was quiet as he processed that, looking back down at the glowing syringe. “Is it dangerous?”

“Only if you take too much. Just a bit and you’ll be alright.”

“Do you take them?” Jack pressed, squinting at him.

Atlas frowned, his dark brows set low over his eyes. “Would you kindly trust me, and just take the damn thing?”

Jack pressed the needle to his wrist, took a breath, and held it as he pressed down.

It was as if his blood began to boil. His veins all became prominent, bright blue underneath his skin as the Plasmid worked it’s way through his system. He began to breathe more rapidly as he felt as if he was burning up from the inside out, screaming as he scratched at his skin trying to get it out. He thought he could faintly hear Atlas’ voice shouting over him, but he was deaf to it, shoving away his hands. Eventually, his vision became blurry at the edges, then he went cold all over and sank to the floor as the world went black.

* * *

_“Look, Mr. Bubbles! It’s an angel. I can see light coming from his belly. …wait a minute, he’s still breathing. It’s alright, I know he’ll be an angel soon…”_

* * *

“Come on, wake up, Jack.”

Jack gasped shortly as his eyes opened. The burning was gone, a slight soreness in his wrist from the injection but otherwise no pain. He pushed himself up to sit, grimacing a bit at the ache in his head.

“There you are,” Atlas sighed. “First time Plasmid’s a real kick from a mule.”

“You didn’t tell me it would feel like that,” Jack said accusingly, glaring at him. “I could’ve used a warning.”

Atlas snorted. “Wouldn’t’ve known what to tell you. Never indulged, myself.”

Jack bristled. “Why would you make me take it if you don’t do it yourself?!”

“I didn’t _make_ you do nothin’, first of all,” Atlas snapped back. “Second, I’ve been livin’ down here and gettin’ by just fine without ‘em. You, on the other hand, are green as a gourd. You’ll need all the help you can get. This thing here,” he said sharply, gesturing between them. “This only works if you trust me. Otherwise we’re both good as ghosts.”

Jack glared at him for another moment, then huffed and looked away with an assenting grunt. Atlas nodded, getting to his feet and holding out a hand, which Jack took and used to haul himself up.

“Thought I heard a voice. A little girl,” Jack said quietly after moment, looking around.

“That you did. All the noise attracted the attention of a Little Sister,” Atlas told him, scooping his weapon up off the ground and doing a quick lap of the room to rifle around drawers and shelves. “Had to ward her off.”

“A Little Sister?”

“Mm. Come on, let’s keep moving.”

Jack scowled, watching as Atlas fiddled with the door. “Are you ever going to answer a question I ask you directly?”

Atlas glanced at him briefly. “In time. Damnit, this thing’s busted. Try using that Plasmid I gave you to jolt the circuit breaker.”

“How do I…”

“Just hold your hand out and think of lightnin’.”

“Li-”

“Go on.”

Jack let out an irritated huff through his nose, though he did as Atlas instructed. He held out his left hand, the injection site in his wrist still throbbing slightly, and called up a vision of a lightning storm he’d witnessed on the farm as a kid. It had lit up the sky so the night seemed like day, the thunder rattling the ground and windows. The memory made Jack’s gut twist a bit; his parents must be so worried…

He was distracted as his hand buzzed, and then there was the sensation of a shock, like one gets when they’ve built up static from wool socks, before a bolt of lightning lashed out from his palm and enveloped the lock on the door. It sizzled for a moment, sparked once, and then came to life. The lights turned green, and the door slid open.

“Well done,” Atlas praised, clapping his back firmly. “Alright, this way.”

Jack blinked, stunned at what he’d just done. Atlas got several paces ahead before he finally came back to himself, taking off at a jog to catch up. They’d emerged into a tunnel, the walls all glass and allowing him to see out into the sea floor below. It was beautiful, and almost peaceful, despite the horror he’d seen so far. Schools of fish and soft columns of bubbles, an eerie light that cast everything around them in a haunting shade of blue. He could see other parts of the city, some lights even still on and advertisements in neon flashing on the sides of buildings.

“Where are we going?” Jack asked, flexing his fingers a few times as his palm still tingled.

“You and I are headed to Neptune’s Bounty, down by the wharf,” Atlas told him, his shotgun held aloft and his wolfish eyes sharp. He really was handsome, if Jack paid attention, all defined jawline and prominent cheekbones. His white button-up was rolled up to his elbows, showing off powerful forearms that were littered in burns and scars. “There’s a bathysphere there that Ryan hasn’t deactivated. We’re gettin’ outta this hellhole.”

Well, Jack certainly couldn’t argue with that. “How far?”

“Not far. But we’ve got a lotta Splicers between there and here,” Atlas muttered. “Best keep an eye out and move quickly.”

Jack nodded, walking a little closer. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted movement through the window, then gasped as he saw part of the plane he’d crashed in floating toward them at alarming speed. “Get back!” he warned, grabbing a fistful of Atlas’ shirt and pulling.

The debris collided with the tunnel they were occupying, crashing through the glass and sending cascades of water rushing in. It was up to their ankles in seconds, and Atlas swore harshly as he holstered his weapon and ducked inside of the fractured plane. They climbed through the wreckage, bracing themselves on the seats - Jack couldn’t believe he’d been in one of them only an hour ago - and coming out the other side. They were soaked, now, their hair sticking to their foreheads and clothes clinging uncomfortably.

Atlas spit out water, slicking his dark hair back with a bitter smirk.

“Welcome to Rapture.”


	2. Chapter 2

_“With ADAM, the flesh becomes clay. What excuse do we have not to sculpt, and sculpt, and sculpt, until the job is done?” - J.S. Steinman_

* * *

**ATLAS**

The first time Atlas saw that face, he questioned everything. Just for a moment.

This was Fontaine’s big secret? His Ace in the Hole? This blond, blue-eyed, baby-faced guy in a sweater and khakis?

Had to be him, though. He responded to the phrase just like Fontaine had said he would. Felt a little dirty, the way the guy’s eyes went blank for just a moment before he did exactly what Atlas asked, so long as he asked the right way.

_Would you kindly?_

Had to be done, though. No other way, not now, not this far into the game. Fontaine’s army was all but fucking gone, and those left were Atlas alongside a bunch of spliced up fools who could barely shoot straight anymore. If Fontaine said Jack was the key to taking down Ryan, then Atlas wasn’t really in any place to argue. Having a guy on their side who basically had a built-in failsafe couldn’t hurt, that was for sure.

Atlas had long since given up counting all of his sins. What was one more to add to the ledger, in the name of the greater good? In the name of a city he’d once loved, before Ryan and his lot had fucked them all?

They approached Kashmir, and Atlas held up a hand, ignoring Jack’s irritated grunt as he nearly ran into him. “One minute,” he murmured. “Let me check for company.”

“Fine by me,” Jack shrugged. “Not like I wanna go in wrench blazing and get my ass shot off.”

Atlas snorted, quirking an eyebrow at him briefly. The guy sure was a sarcastic piece of work. He shook his head, turning back and kicking in the door to the restaurant with his shotgun held at the ready. As expected, he startled a couple of Splicers inside, plugging one of them in the gut while he still had the element of surprise. The other recovered and shrieked, sprinting toward him. He put a couple holes in her head before she could get too close, sending her sprawling and flecks off blood splattering onto the wood floor. Atlas took an extra moment to listen for footsteps or other signs of life, and waved Jack inside after hearing none.

“Impressive,” Jack complimented. “Amazed you haven’t gotten yourself killed kicking in doors like that, though.”

“Haven’t died so far,” Atlas mused, rolling over one of the corpses with his foot and kneeling to check her pockets for ammo.

Jack went quiet, wandering slowly around the sacked restaurant as each footstep made the floor groan in protest. Atlas wouldn’t be surprised if the damn thing fell in one of these days.

“What happened here?” Jack asked eventually, his palm passing slowly over the soiled banner draped over the bar, reading HAPPY NEW YEAR in big black letters.

Atlas took a moment to answer, not sure exactly how much he should say. “Riots. New Years Eve, ‘58. Some people decided to rise up against the big wigs in the city.”

Jack glanced at him, and Atlas was a little taken aback by the piercing gaze. Made him feel pinned where he stood. “Were you here?”

“I was.”

“Were you on the big wig side, or the rioting side?”

Atlas stared at him, choosing his words carefully before speaking. “The rioting side,” he admitted.

Jack didn’t seem to react one way or the other, just nodded, and looked around again. “I still don’t understand. What is this place? This city?”

“Mankind’s salvation,” Atlas said sarcastically, rocking up onto his feet again. “Andrew Ryan built Rapture as some kinda escape from government and law. Wanted an isolated place where we could be free from censorship, free market, free this and that.” He scoffed bitterly, vaulting the bar to check for supplies. “It was just his way to play God, to shove his ideals down the throats of all who would listen. Turned out we had the same problems here that we had topside, ‘cept now we had no way out. Still had poorhouses, still hated the queers and the Irish and the colored folk. It was all just swept under the rug until times got hard. Then everyone wanted someone to blame.”

Jack frowned, seeming confused by that, but not elaborating. “That kind of freedom sounds like it should have worked, though,” he said instead.

“Yeah, for some,” Atlas snorted. “Us workin’ class folk came here for opportunity, a place where we could make a decent livin’ with the promise of equality under Rapture’s economy. But the rich fucks all came here to get away from rules and law, and Ryan was one of ‘em. By the time we realized we’d gotten the short end of the stick, us sorry fools were all stuck in Pauper’s Drop and the poor houses with no way out.”

He straightened up again to find Jack watching him carefully, his brow set in a contemplative frown as he leaned back against cocktail table. “So you rebelled,” he prompted quietly. “And then this happened?” he asked, looking around.

Atlas shook his head, casting the room a bitter look himself. “No. This was happenin’ well before us. Parts of the city were shut down ‘cause Splicers took it over, place was leakin’ and fallin’ apart. The power went out at least once a day at some point. Rapture was dyin’, and Ryan wasn’t doin’ anything to keep her alive. So, we took her from him. Or, tried to, anyway.”

“Well,” Jack sighed, shaking his head. “At least you know when to quit. If I were you, I’d have been out of here a long time ago.”

“Ah, boyo.” Atlas took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping a bit as he leaned with his forearms braced on the bar top. “This place used to be beautiful, if you can believe it. Even from the slums, I wanted to save her. Let someone worth a damn take charge.”

“Someone like who?” Jack asked, turning those bright blue eyes on him again.

Atlas stiffened. Too much talking. Goddamnit. He could almost feel Fontaine glaring at him. Atlas was sure the man was always watching him, even if he said he had better things to do. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

“Would you kindly grab the pistol off that Splicer? Let’s get moving,” he said lowly, turning away so he didn’t have to see the awareness leave Jack’s eyes as he followed the order like a trained puppy.

Luckily, it appeared that the guy knew how to handle a weapon. That was a damn relief, Atlas scoffed to himself. Last thing he needed was trying to teach him how to shoot on top of everything else. He watched as Jack loaded the pistol expertly, wiping off the blood from the handle with the sleeve of his sweater and then getting back to his feet.

“Ready.”

“Good. This way.”

Atlas led them to the second level of Kashmir, back on the lookout for Splicers and cameras and the other lovely pains the ass Rapture had to offer.

“Footlight Theater’s a shortcut,” he told Jack. “But it’s a big Splicer hangout, so we’ll go through the catwalk. Should be able to sneak over ‘em, if anyone’s hangin’ about.”

Jack nodded, walking a little closer, and Atlas grit his teeth. He was trying to keep his distance, but Jack really was not what he was expecting. When Fontaine had mentioned that his Ace in the Hole was a mentally conditioned puppet that would jump if you told him how high, he’d expected some kind of mindless drone. Or at least not someone who had so much to him. Even without saying a word, Jack’s eyes spoke for him, the tilt of the brow of the curve of his lips betraying every emotion.

It just didn’t fit. Atlas didn’t know what the hell to _do_ with this.

He led them both to the bathroom on the second floor above the theater, where he’d long ago discovered that a section of the wall had been blown away and one could access the catwalk quickly and quietly without drawing attention. Only problem was, Jack seemed intent on stepping in every damn puddle they came across, which wasn’t great, considering Rapture was leaking six ways to Sunday anywhere you went.

Atlas spun around, fixing Jack with a hard look. Jack blinked owlishly back.

“What?”

“Stop makin’ so much noise,” Atlas told him firmly. “More attention is more ammo wasted. Watch where you’re walkin’.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Atlas sighed heavily, lifting his eyes to the ceiling before turning back around. _This had better be worth it._ They slipped into the men’s bathroom, finding no Splicers inside, and crept through the hole in the back wall, shuffling carefully so as not to disturb any rubble. They emerged onto the catwalk, and Atlas holstered his weapon, lowering to a crouch. He peered over the edge, and pursed his lips.

“Little Sister,” he murmured, grimacing as he watched her piercing the chest of a corpse with her syringe, humming a nursery rhyme as she worked.

“That’s a Little Sister?” Jack asked, his eyes wide.

“Sh,” Atlas interrupted before he could open his mouth again. He gestured silently for him to follow, and together they crossed the catwalk, avoiding the Little Sister altogether. Probably for the best, at this point. Jack still had shit for weapons. There would be time for ADAM later.

Once they were on the other side, Atlas straightened, leading the way down the stairs to the first level once more. As he opened his mouth to suggest their next move, he realized Jack wasn’t beside him. He looked around wildly, only to find him pressed up against the window and staring into the theater at the grotesque show the Sister was putting on.

“That’s a little girl,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “What is she-”

“That ain’t a little girl,” Atlas interrupted firmly. “Not anymore. Whatever, or whoever, she was before, she’s not there anymore. Now she’s just a mindless drone.”

“What is she doing?” Jack asked softly, his frown still deep and his eyes still wide. He looked positively stricken. Poor bastard.

“That - uh oh. Get back, boyo.”

Jack looked up, taking two long strides backward when he saw the same thing Atlas had - a Splicer, gun drawn and creeping slowly toward the Little Sister. She noticed him at the last moment, straightening up and staring at him with her blank eyes.

“Come here, sweetheart,” the Splicer cooed, his smile unnaturally wide and his eyes bulging. “Give me that sweet, sweet ADAM you’ve got, there…”

When he got too close, the Little Sister threw back her head and shrieked toward the ceiling, her little voice echoing against the walls. Atlas grimaced as he pulled Jack back a few more steps.

The floor beneath their feet began to tremble, and then the door on the opposite end of the theater burst open, flying off it’s rusted hinges to reveal a Big Daddy. It’s helmet glowed a seething red, it’s power drill already spinning menacingly as it took a moment to assess the situation. It’s gaze landed on the Splicer, before it broke into a sprint, throwing a thick fist into his chest and slamming him up against the wall. The Little Sister leapt to her feet, seizing the opportunity and climbing up onto the Big Daddy’s back with her grubby hands and feet, syringe full of ADAM in her grasp. The Splicer hardly had chance to lift his weapon before the Big Daddy shoved his power drill into his gut, pinning him to the wall and promptly turning the thing on. The Splicer yelled and gurgled as he was torn up from the inside, blood spraying the wall and the window. If Jack and Atlas had been any closer, they’d have had a face full. Then he slumped, dead as a doornail.

The Big Daddy flicked his drill once, sending the corpse sailing into the glass window and shattering it where Jack had been standing only a minute ago, glass tinkling onto the carpet. Once the situation was clear, his helmet melted back to it’s standard yellow, and he lowered his Little Sister onto the ground, ensuring she was on her feet before letting her go and following her out with lumbering steps.

Jack let out a breath he’d apparently been holding, his chest heaving as he stared after the pair until they’d disappeared. “What in the fresh hell was _that_?” he hissed.

“That was a Big Daddy,” Atlas told him gravely. “They protect the Little Sisters. You even come near one of ‘em, and her Daddy will come to teach you a lesson.”

“God, what the hell is this place?” Jack murmured, though Atlas couldn’t be sure who he was talking to.

* * *

They waded their way into a junction. No other way to slice it, really - the place was flooded, water pouring in all the time. Splicers became more frequent the further into the city they got. More bodies to loot, Atlas figured. Jack carried his weight just fine, taking them out with his pistol and actually seeming to have handled one in his life.

Atlas picked ammo off corpses as Jack made his way down the stairs, slipping once on the soaked carpet but not losing his footing completely.

“Gotta get you some better shoes,” Atlas noted, glancing at his feet. “You’re just askin’ for it in those.”

“Asking for what?” Jack snorted, putting his hands on his hips.

“To slip and crack yer head open, for one,” Atlas retorted, quirking an eyebrow at him. “We’ll keep an eye out. For now, just watch your step.”

Jack didn’t reply, though Atlas did catch the eye roll. “This way, then?” he said eventually, nodding to the path on the right. The neon Neptune’s Bounty sign flickered overhead, a couple of the letters gone dark.

“That’ll be it. Not far, now.”

As they approached the path to Neptune’s Bounty, the lights overhead began to flash red, and an alarm sounded, so loud it made Atlas grind his teeth. A gate slammed over the archway, blocking their exit.

“Christ!”

“What’s happening?” Jack shouted over the noise, looking around wildly.

“It’s Andrew fucking Ryan,” Atlas snarled. “He’s found us! He’s blocking our way to Neptune!” He heard shrieks and shouts, swearing sharply as the telltale sound of approaching Splicers echoed in the distance. They were in absolutely no shape to be fighting the type of hoard that those alarms were likely to attract. “We gotta get out of here. There’s another way, head to Medical!” He spun Jack around, landing a hard shove between his shoulder blades to get him moving. “Go, go!”

Together they ran, trudging through ankle-deep water at first before breaking into a sprint once they were out of it. As predicted, Jack slipped a couple of times on his goddamned shoes, and Atlas just grabbed a fistful of his sweater and hauled him back to his feet every time.

As they skidded around the corner, the exit in sight, the door slid closed and locked tight. “Shit, shit,” Atlas hissed. “Give me a moment, gonna override the locks.” He dropped to his knees, yanking open the circuit breaker and starting to fiddle with the wires.

The monitor on the far wall lit up, bathing the room in white light. Atlas glanced over his shoulder, and his heart dropped into his stomach as he looked into the face of Andrew Ryan. The man’s expression was outwardly calm, but the enraged fire that burned in his eyes was enough to betray him. Jack froze in place, partially blocking Atlas from view. Atlas grit his teeth, forcing himself to keep working on getting them the hell out of there.

“So tell me, friend,” Ryan began. “Which one of the bitches sent you? The KGB wolf, or the CIA jackal?”

“No,” Jack said, shaking his head. He was clutching his pistol tightly, backing toward Atlas. Atlas willed his fingers to move faster. Ryan hadn’t noticed him yet, maybe -

“Ah. I see you are not alone.”

Fucking hell.

“You belong to Atlas,” Ryan sneered. “It’s no wonder you wander the halls of my city, plundering and pillaging whatever you please. I don’t know how your master was able to smuggle in fresh blood, Atlas, but I will not suffer it.”

“Keep talkin’, ya slimy cunt,” Atlas snapped back, eyes still on his work. Almost had it, almost had it.

“Charming. Farewell, gentlemen.”

With that, the picture cut out, bathing them in black. Atlas swore, but didn’t need his sight for the last part, feeling his way through the last couple of wires. At the same time, the screaming from before became louder, and Splicers began to rattle the bars of the gate that had slammed shut behind them.

“Atlas!” Jack called anxiously.

“Got it!” Atlas shouted back, the door sparking to life and swinging open as he spoke. “Come on, let’s go! Go!”

Jack nodded, taking off through the door, and Atlas followed on his heels. As soon as they’d slammed the door shut behind them he took the butt of his shotgun and smashed the circuit breaker, effectively shutting it down and locking it closed. He let out a breath, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Well,” he said darkly. “Now you’ve met Andrew Ryan. The bloody king of Rapture.”

“He seems nice,” Jack said breathlessly, the sarcasm a little dampened by the slightly higher pitch to his voice.

Atlas snorted, unable to help being amused. “Yeah, he’s a peach. Now, first things first.” He pointed toward a bench sternly. “Sit down.”

Jack snorted, crossing his arms. “Why?”

“Do it, ya smartass,” Atlas snipped back. “I’m gonna fix those shoes.”

“Fix them how?” Jack asked, sinking onto the bench.

Atlas pulled out his pocket knife, taking Jack’s ankle in the other hand and holding his foot aloft. He began to hack at the soles in a criss-cross pattern, roughing them up from toe to tip.

“Quit your gripin’,” he muttered as Jack made a noise of protest. “This’ll give ya traction. Then you won’t be slippin’ and slidin’ all over the damn place.”

He gave the other shoe the same treatment, before dropping Jack’s ankle and stowing the knife once more.

“Couldn’t have lent me that when I was smacking at Splicers with a wrench?” Jack drawled.

“Nope,” Atlas replied. “Because it’s mine.”

  
Jack snorted, shrugging one shoulder. He looked around, sitting up a little straighter. “Where to now?”

“There’s another route to Neptune through emergency access,” Atlas told him, peering around the corner to scan the medical pavilion for Splicers. None that he could see, though that meant jack shit. “We’ll head there. It’s on the upper level.”

“Right. Lead the way, then.”

Atlas took a deep breath through his nose, shaking off the adrenaline before heading further into medical. He wouldn’t say it aloud, obviously, but riling Ryan up was going to play right into his hands, despite the tight spot.

Now, if they could only piss him off a little more before getting to Neptune.


	3. Chapter 3

_“Any contact with the surface exposes Rapture to the very parasites we fled from. A few stretched necks are a small price to pay for our ideals.” - Andrew Ryan_

* * *

**JACK**

Jack found that he couldn’t take his eyes off of Atlas.

It was less about his looks - although those were very impressive, _hello_ suspenders - and more about the fact that he just couldn’t figure him out. One moment he was cussing up a storm, kicking in doors and blowing holes in the heads of Splicers. The next he was making dry jokes, openly mourning the city he used to love that was now in shambles, hacking at the bottoms of Jack’s shoes to keep him from slipping. Jack got the feeling that the man wasn’t everything he appeared to be.

“So why are you trying to leave?” he asked eventually. Atlas glanced minutely over his shoulder, though his eyes stayed forward. “It sounded to me like you really love this place, still. Why are you leaving?”

Atlas was quiet for a long moment, which Jack had come to expect. The guy appeared to think through his words very carefully before he spoke, which Jack supposed he could respect.

“Like y’said, lad,” Atlas replied after some silence. “Gotta know when to quit.”

There was something hanging on the end of that, something he wasn’t saying. But, Jack wasn’t in any position to pry. He hardly knew the guy, after all.

The medical pavilion was devoid of danger for the moment, though that didn’t seem to be of comfort to Atlas; his eyes were still on the walls and ceilings, his shotgun still pulled and at the ready. Jack mirrored him with his pistol, though he didn’t feel nearly as confident as he pretended to be. He knew how to shoot from practicing with his dad, but he wasn’t exactly proficient, and he certainly wasn’t combat-trained. The Splicers were erratic, though, flailing and unsteady on their feet, so fighting them was just a matter of trying not to get hit by a stray bullet.

They emerged onto the second level of Medical, Atlas peering around the corner before waving Jack to follow after him. The quiet was starting to get to Jack, now, as he found himself grinding his teeth.

“This way,” Atlas murmured. “Gotta flip the emergency release, then it’s a straight shot to Neptune’s Bounty.”

“This place is a maze,” Jack snorted, following closely. “Especially with all the lights out. Dunno how you find your way around.”

“This is my city, that’s how,” Atlas told him lowly, the melodrama practically rolling off of him in waves. “I know her inside and out.”

Jack stared at the back of his head for a moment. “You seem like you’re real fun at parties, Atlas.”

“Sh.”

He was about to clap back, but fell quiet when he heard the same thing Atlas had - voices around the corner, muttering feverishly underneath the echo of dripping water. He lifted his pistol, loading it quietly and trying to watch where he put his feet - he hadn’t noticed how often he stepped in puddles until Atlas has pointed it out.

As they rounded the corner they saw a Splicer, wearing a ragged doctor’s coat and rifling inside the pockets of a corpse. Atlas held out his arm, Jack’s chest colliding with it as he halted them both, but it was a second too late. The Splicer’s head snapped up, his eyes wide and bloodshot and an ammo pack hanging off of his shoulder. He reached inside it, and Jack only had a second to register him pulling the pin out of a grenade with his teeth before Atlas shoved him back with both hands. He sprawled on the ground, scraping up his back a bit on the concrete and covering his head as the grenade went off somewhere to his left. Bits of shrapnel pinged off of his forearms, but not hard enough to cut through his clothes.

The sound of Atlas’ shotgun echoed off of the walls, and Jack pushed himself up to assist. He sat up on his knees, gritting his teeth as he fired off a couple of shots at the Splicer, who was already reaching for another grenade. One of his bullets buried itself in the Splicer’s shoulder, and he stumbled with a harsh cry. Atlas took the opening, blasting two holes in his chest and sending him crumpling to the ground.

After a moment of listening for more company, Atlas sighed, reaching out a hand which Jack used to haul himself to his feet.

“Nice work, lad,” Atlas complimented, actually smiling at him. Jack blinked, a little dumbstruck. Damnit, if he wasn’t easy on the eyes. “You’re catchin’ up quick.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” Jack told him casually, though he couldn’t help fluttering his eyelashes a little. Just a little.

He was a little put out when Atlas just stared blankly at him.

They continued into emergency access, the room dimly lit with steel staircases on either side. The emergency tunnel resided on the far wall, closed off by a grate with thick bars. Atlas led the way up one of staircases, their footsteps unavoidably creaking as they climbed. They emerged onto a platform, a security console at the front with monitors on either side.

“There we are,” Atlas murmured, reaching for the switch in the center. He pushed it forward, and Jack jumped as alarms began to blare overhead. The monitors on the security console flashed ACCESS DENIED in blood red letters.

“Fabulous.”

“We need a key,” Atlas snapped, running his fingers through his hair agitatedly. “Christ. Let me think.”

Jack looked around helplessly, not really sure what he was looking for but feeling useless otherwise. The noise blared in his ears and set his teeth on edge, forcing his shoulders up near his ears. He paused, his gut clenching when he heard telltale shrieks and scraping against concrete.

“Splicers, Atlas.”

“Alarms drew ‘em,” he huffed, brandishing his weapon. “Come on, boyo. Let’s keep to higher ground, they’ll funnel in on the lower level. Easy pickin’s.”

As he’d said, Splicers began to file in from the door they’d come through down below. Atlas took out the first two in quick succession before they could reach the stairs, and Jack hurried to assist as their friends took their place.

The two of them made quick work of the small group that had been drawn by all the noise, and Jack smiled up at Atlas as they both stowed their weapons.

“We make a pretty good team.”

Atlas grunted, not looking at him. Jack couldn’t help the pout.

“Alright,” Atlas said eventually, letting out a heavy breath and placing his hands on his hips. “We need to head to Dr. Steinman.”

“What do we need him for?”

“He’s got a key. That’s the only way we’re gettin’ through emergency access,” Atlas told him. “Won’t be as simple as it sounds. The guy’s spliced to hell and back. Not even sure he’s still human.”

Jack frowned to himself as he followed Atlas back down the stairs, stepping over corpses and avoiding slipping in blood.

“Atlas?”

“Mm.”

“The Splicers…was it the plasmids that drove them crazy like that?”

Atlas took his usual time before he answered. “Sort of. The real culprit is ADAM.”

“And what’s that?” Jack pressed. _Always with the half-answers._

“It’s the base material that plasmids are made of. I don’t pretend to understand the science of it, but modified ADAM is what makes a plasmid, and it’s addictive as hell,” Atlas explained. “Like I told ya before, just a little won’t do ya any harm. These people just went too far.”

Jack chewed the inside of his lip, closing his palm over the injection site on his wrist, still a little sore and pink. “Seems like everyone in the city went too far, then.”

“Not everyone. But close,” Atlas murmured. “Don’t worry about it, lad. We’re gettin’ outta here.”

They backtracked through the main foyer where they’d first arrived, Atlas leading them to the other end past the reception desk.

“Steinman’s office is back this way,” he explained. “We’ll get his key and get the hell out.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Jack snorted. “Which means it probably isn’t.”

Atlas smirked, sending him a sidelong glance. Jack smothered the urge to giggle. So stupid, considering the situation, but Atlas made him feel like everything was going to be alright.

“You’d be right,” Atlas confirmed. “Like I said, he’s probably lost it by now. We might need to kill him to get the key.”

Jack frowned to himself, watching where his feet were going as he tried not to trip over dead bodies and debris. “Great.”

He felt eyes on him but didn’t bring attention to it. He’d learned quickly that asking Atlas questions was about as productive as just waiting for him to say whatever he was going to say.

“Ever killed before Rapture, Jack? You seem to know how to handle a gun,” he pointed out.

Jack opened his mouth to answer, then frowned. He’d wanted to say ‘no’, but his mind came up with brief flashes - a shooting range, a pistol too large for his tiny hands, a golden puppy lying limply in his lap.

“I…no,” he said stiffly, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. “No. I haven’t. I learned how to shoot from my dad.”

Atlas stared at him for a long moment, before nodding once and looking away.

They approached the door that led further into Medical, drawing their weapons as they prepared to pass through. Jack blinked once, his eyes growing tired (he wondered what time it was) then gasped and came to a jolting stop as he saw a ghostly woman. She pounded on the door with her fists, sobbing and slumping wretchedly.

_“You promised me pretty, Steinman! You promised me pretty! Now look at me! LOOK AT ME!”_

She fell to her knees, and then disappeared in a white mist.

“What the hell was that?” Jack gasped, his hand pressed over his racing heart.

“What? I didn’t see anything.”

“That woman!” Jack insisted. “She was right there!”

Atlas stared at him like he’d grown another head out of his neck. “There was nothin’ there, boyo.”

Jack stared back, his eyes wide as he swallowed around his dry throat. “I…I saw her. I swear.”

Atlas frowned deeply, looking at the door where the woman had been standing just before. “…probably just tired, Jack,” he said eventually, though he didn’t seem to be meeting his eyes. “Don’t think too much on it.”

“Atlas-”

“Would you kindly get that door open? We’ve wasted enough time already.”

Jack turned toward the door and pushed it open.

They emerged into the dimly lit entryway of the surgery wing, their first sight being words smeared into the tile beneath their feet in blood: ABOVE ALL DO NO HARM. The sharp stench of antiseptic mixed with blood stung Jack’s nostrils, but he didn’t grimace. Something about it almost felt…familiar.

“Alright, keep your eyes peeled,” Atlas murmured, interrupting his reverie. “He’ll be in the west end; that’s where his offices are. Just follow the blood.”

Jack looked up at him, dread settling in his chest, still shaken from the ghostly woman's screams. “You sure there’s no other option for getting through emergency access?”

Atlas clapped his back, maybe a little too hard, and Jack pouted.

“Chin up, boyo. The lord hates a quitter.”

* * *

They came across another Plasmid dispensary, and Jack pulled a face as Atlas snatched up the syringe.

“Atlas, I don’t know,” he murmured, giving it an uneasy look. “It hurt, before. Maybe I don’t need it.”

“You need it,” Atlas told him firmly, pressing it into his hand. The substance inside was glowing a bright red. “Go on. It won’t hurt as much this time.”

Jack sighed through his nose, turning it around in his fingers. “You said ADAM was addictive. I don’t want to get addicted.”

“Boyo.” Atlas laid a hand on his shoulder, smiling again and making him feel a bit dazed. His eyes were so blue. “I won’t let anythin’ happen to you. Trust me.”

Jack hesitated for another moment, before nodding reluctantly. “Okay.”

“That’s a lad.”

He let out a heavy breath, blowing out his cheeks with the force of it, before holding the needle to his wrist. He pressed down on the trigger, hissing as it pierced his skin. He grit his teeth as the Plasmid immediately began to burn inside of his veins and wrapped his arms tightly around himself, groaning in pain. Atlas was right, though; he didn’t black out, and he didn’t scream. When it ended, he had a cold sweat on his forehead, but he wiped it away with the back of his hand and stood straight once more.

“There you go,” Atlas praised, patting his back. “That one’s called Incinerate. Self-explanatory; let’s you shoot fire.”

“Better not set it off by accident,” Jack snorted, still tense as he recovered from the residual pain.

Atlas scoffed in agreement. “Please don’t. Anyway. That’ll be helpful against Steinman.”

They continued on their way. It was dark, and wet, like the rest of Rapture, but there was far more blood on the walls and floors. Steinman’s work, likely.

“I’m surprised a doctor became a junkie,” Jack said eventually, too jumpy in the silence. “I would have thought someone like that wouldn’t want to touch plasmids.”

Atlas snorted. “Not down here.” He always said that. “Besides, Steinman was more obsessed with cosmetic surgery than anything else. Always wanted to make people more beautiful, said it was our civic duty to be easy on the eyes. And he used ADAM to do it.”

Jack frowned. “He used ADAM to do surgery?”

“It rewrites your DNA. So he figured it could be used to make people more attractive. Then he started goin’ mad with it, changin’ things that shouldn’t be changed, things that people didn’t ask to be changed.” Atlas sighed, shaking his head. “Now he’s completely off his rocker and just holes up here, nickin’ poor saps that come too close and ‘experimenting’ on them.”

“Charming.”

The entrance to Steinman’s offices was marked by a neon sign and a corpse. She was sat upright in a wheel chair, her eyes open and glazed with death, her clothes ripped and stained, her face marled and mismatched as if she’d had several skin grafts. The wall behind her was signed with crimson blood, Steinman’s name glittering in the low light.

Jack’s stomach turned as the stench of old blood grew stronger the further they went. ‘Follow the blood,’ Atlas had said. That was how they’d know where to find the doctor. Jack had always had an unease about doctors for as long as he could remember, but he still found it difficult to imagine one committing atrocities like this. Like the mangled faces he’d seen on the corpses littering the medical pavilion. Then again, this was Rapture. The ideals of humanity didn’t apply.

He was wrenched from his thoughts by a fist in the back of his sweater, yanking him backward and forcing a yelp from his throat. “Wha-!”

“Turret up ahead,” Atlas told him, quirking an eyebrow as he gave him a look. “You really gotta quit screamin’ about every damn thing.”

“I don’t-!”

“We need t’get past that thing,” Atlas interrupted, ignoring Jack scowling at him as he peered around the corner. “It’ll plug us like swiss cheese if we try to just run past.”

Jack huffed, straightening up his sweater where Atlas had yanked it off-center. “I can hack it.”

Atlas gave him a dry look. “You can hack it,” he deadpanned.

Jack puffed out his chest, sticking out his chin. “Yes, I can. Stand back, Suspenders.”

He pretended he hadn’t heard the derisive snort nor noticed Atlas mouthing ‘Suspenders?’ as he crept in the opposite direction, circling around so he could get behind the turret. It was a makeshift thing, slapped together scrap metal and machine guns propped on top. The red light of a sensor shone on it’s front, probably salvaged from a security camera, Jack mused. Maybe the Splicers weren’t as erratic as he thought. Or maybe someone more competent had made it. He wasn’t sure which was the scarier thought.

He approached the back of the turret, walking on the balls of his feet and trying to be as silent as possible. When he got close enough he dropped to his knees, ignoring how they got damp from the inescapable puddles on the ground. Rapture really was slowly drowning. He took out his wrench, tapping sharply on the circuit box until it swung open, and then began to fiddle with the wires. His fingers almost moved on their own, like it was muscle memory. That was silly, of course. He was just good with tech, always had been. Used to take apart the toaster on the farm and put it back together just to see how it worked.

With a satisfied grin, he attached the last wire and rocked back onto his feet. He waved Atlas over, feeling very smug. “It’s inactive now. We’re clear.”

Atlas let out a puff of laughter through his nose, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Hm. Nice work.”

The praise made Jack’s heart flutter a little, though he pretended to be indifferent.

 

* * *

The surgery room was dark, save for a circle of light in the very center, a gurney illuminated with a half-dead Splicer atop it and blood dripping off of the sides. Before it stood a man, tall with a gleaming scalpel in his hand and a wild look in his eye.

“Steinman,” Atlas muttered, scowling as they listened to the man rant to himself, hunched over in the shadows. “Stay quiet. Let me think for a moment.”

Jack nodded, jaw clenched as he watched Steinman through the observation window.

“What am I to do with this one, Aphrodite?” Steinman cried, his voice echoing in the empty surgery room. “She won’t stay still!” With each word, he drew a long slash across the Splicer’s body with his scalpel, blood spurting onto his surgeon’s gown and flecking the tile beneath his feet. The Splicer cried out and gurgled sickeningly.

“I want to make them beautiful, but they always turn out wrong,” he sobbed, dropping his face into his free hand. He paused, his head slowly raising, a blood hand print over his right eye and cheek. Jack felt himself go pale, a cold sweat beading on his forehead as they locked eyes.

“Can he see us?” Jack murmured, eyes wide.

“Apparently,” Atlas huffed, pulling out his shotgun as Steinman went stiff.

Jack scrambled to his feet, frowning as he tried to activate his new plasmid. After a bit of concentration, a flame lit in his palm, slowly creeping over his fingers and half his forearm. It wasn’t painful, but it was very warm, like he was holding his hand over a campfire.

“What’s this, goddess?” Steinman asked, coming around the gurney to see Jack more closely. “An intruder! He’s ugly. Ugly! Ugly!” The man snatched a machine gun from the table beside him and opened fire on the observation window. Jack swore and ducked, barely avoiding being shot and covering the back of his head as glass rained down on him.

“Keep him busy!” Atlas repeated, shouting over the din as bullets pinged off of the far wall. “I’ll find the lights!”

“Yeah, sure!” Jack called back dryly, grimacing as a bullet whizzed particularly close to his head.

When Steinman stopped firing to reload, still ranting and raving nearly incomprehensibly, Jack darted out of cover, holding out his palm and shooting a burst of flame in his direction. The doctor dodged, but the flames lit a barrel full of hazardous material beside him. It went up at once, and Jack kicked it hard, sending it careening into Steinman and knocking him off balance. While he was catching himself the lights overhead flickered on; Atlas had found the switch.

A moment later Jack had some assistance, Atlas attacking Steinman rapid fire with his teeth bared as he advanced into the surgery room.

“Atlas!” Steinman cried, firing back at him with a manic grin. He seemed to forget Jack even existed. “At last, you’ve come to visit me! The only man whose beauty could rival my own, beaten down and dirtied by poverty and malnourishment! We could make a glorious tribute to the goddess, you and I!”

Atlas didn’t respond, ducking into cover as Steinman nearly put a hole in his head. Jack sent another burst of flame in Steinman’s direction, this time lighting his gown on fire and causing him to panic as he tried frantically to extinguish it with his hands. While he was distracted, Atlas rolled out of cover, getting closer to the doctor until there were only a few feet between them. Steinman flailed and screamed in alarm as the flames continued to eat away at his clothes, and didn’t even seem to realize that Atlas was pointing a shotgun at his chest until he’d already fired. A spurt of blood flew from the exit wounds in his back and spattered the floor.

Steinman teetered in place for a moment, his eyes and mouth wide with shock, and Atlas nudged the center of his chest, sending him toppling to the ground.

“Jesus,” Jack breathed, extinguishing his flame as his shoulders slumped.

Atlas grunted in agreement, turning Steinman over with his foot and crouching beside him. He stuck his hands into all of his pockets, pulling out a couple bottles of painkillers and a roll of bandages, before finally brandishing a rectangular slab of engraved metal.

“That the key?” Jack asked, sighing in relief when Atlas nodded. “Good.” Silence. “…you alright?”

Atlas nodded, getting to his feet and running his fingers through his hair. His jaw was clenched, his lips a thin, white line. “M’fine. Just…nothin’. Let’s go.”

Jack watched him carefully, frowning as he turned away without another word and stalked out of the surgery room. With another cursory glance around, and after snatching up the remainder of Steinman’s ammo, he followed.


	4. Chapter 4

_“Even with those things implanted in their bellies, they are still children. They play, and sing. Sometimes they look at me, and they don’t stop. Sometimes they smile.” - Brigid Tenenbaum_

* * *

**JACK**

They’d hardly gotten halfway back to the emergency access tunnel when the ground beneath their feet began to tremble, an inhuman roar echoing from a distance away. Jack was starting to wonder just how long this seemingly quick getaway of Atlas’ was going to take.

“Tunnel collapse?” Atlas frowned.

Jack snorted. “That didn’t sound like a tunnel collapse.”

“Hm. You may be right. Stick close.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

They continued on, emerging into one of the hallways lined with glass, the ceiling leaking sea water and slowly flooding the floor. Jack grimaced as they had to wade through it, only ankle deep but enough to soak his socks and the bottoms of his pants - and just after they’d gotten dry, again.

“Let’s pick up the pace,” Atlas murmured, his eyes sharp. “We can’t afford anymore dist-”

This time, it was Jack who pulled Atlas out of harm’s way, wrapping a fist around one of his suspenders and yanking him backward as a hulking, flaming projectile sailed by them close enough to singe their hair.

“Fuck!” Atlas shouted in surprise. “That’s a Big Daddy!”

“What happened to him?” Jack asked, grimacing as the Big Daddy was extinguished by the leaking ceiling and a foul stench filled the hallway. “Ugh.”

“Splicers, probably. Come on.”

“Wait, what?!”

Atlas ignored him, wading his way down the side hall from which the Big Daddy had been flung. Jack huffed and followed after him, glancing over his shoulder at the singed monster slumped on the ground. He wondered if they could feel pain.

“Ah,” Atlas gasped, drawing his attention once again. “It’s a little one.”

Jack’s eyes widened, and he hurried to catch up with him. “What? A Little Sister?”

“Yeah, that must’ve been her Daddy. Here’s your chance to get some ADAM. Stronger than plasmids; it’ll pump you up like nothin’ else. Make ya stronger, faster.”  
  
Jack had no time to fret about ingesting raw ADAM, or to wonder about how they’d get it from a Little Sister, before they came upon her. She was small, couldn’t hardly be older than six, her skin sickly gray and her eyes colorless, hair stringy and pulled up into a filthy bow. Her dress was ragged, torn on the ends and dirty all over. There were even stains of blood on the skirt, which just further fueled Jack’s protective urges. He wasn’t sure what it was about the girls, but he felt an almost innate pull to them, like they were his own sisters, or his children. It was a strange sensation, especially toward a being so haunting.

The girl was being advanced upon by a Splicer with a baseball bat in his fist. He wore a manic grin, slowly backing her up and raising the weapon high.

“It’s just you and me,” he drawled. “And all the tasty ADAM I can drink…”

He pushed her to the ground and she tumbled easily, letting out a frightened scream that echoed in the high ceiling. He raised the bat, and Jack reached for his pistol, but before he could pull it a gunshot sounded from above them. He and Atlas looked up simultaneously to find a turret mounted on the far wall, pointed at the Splicer. It fired once more, and the Splicer fell to the ground with a series of holes in his chest before he could even attempt a retaliation.

Jack took a step forward toward the little girl, then froze when the turret swiveled straight toward him, next, though it didn’t fire.

“Stay away from her,” a woman snarled angrily, and it took him a moment of looking around to realize her voice was crackling over his radio. “Or it is you who will be shot next!”

Jack looked down at the device, then back up at the turret. He lifted his hands slowly, taking a step away from the girl. She was sobbing weakly on the ground, shaking with fear.

“Okay. I won’t touch her.”

“Easy, doctor,” Atlas urged, his own radio lifted to his mouth. “We’re just looking for a wee bit of ADAM. Just enough to get by.”

“I’ll not have him hurt my little ones!” she snapped.

Atlas snorted, rolling his eyes as he directed his gaze straight at the turret on the wall. Jack noticed a small lens just above it.

“It’s okay, lad,” Atlas said, resting a hand on Jack’s shoulder and still maintaining eye contact with the camera. “It’s not a child, not anymore. Dr. Tenenbaum saw to that.”

Jack blinked as Atlas turned, taking a couple of steps toward the little girl and reaching for her.

“ _Bitte_ , do not hurt her!” Tenenbaum gasped, sounding more distressed than angry, now. “Have you no heart?”

“Ha!” Atlas barked, glaring into the camera. “That’s a mighty fine sermon comin’ from the woman that cooked up them creatures in the first place. Took fine little girls and turned ‘em into that, didn’t you?”

She didn’t respond. Jack chewed the inside of his lip, watching the little girl still trembling at their feet as Atlas spoke. She was so, so small…

“Look,” Atlas said, ducking into his line of vision. Jack met his eyes, though he was feeling very uneasy, now. “You won’t survive without the ADAM those things are carrying. Are you really willin’ to trade your life for Tenenbaum’s little Frankensteins?”

Jack swallowed, his eyes darting between each of Atlas’ and then down to the girl again. “I…”

“There is another way!” Tenenbaum interjected desperately. “Look into the pneumo beside the door. Please.”

“We ain’t fallin’ for that, sister,” Atlas snipped, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh, move,” Jack huffed, nudging him aside as he saw what Tenenbaum was referring to - a cylindrical structure, waist-high and bolted to the floor and almost resembling a trashcan. The word ‘pneumo’ was etched into the front. He stuck his hand inside, ignoring Atlas’ protesting grunt, and fished out a Plasmid, this one golden and shining like the sun. He almost had to squint a little, looking at it.

“Use this,” Tenenbaum told him. “It will allow you to cure them, to free them from their torment. I will make it to be worth your while…somehow.”

“It ain’t worth your while,” Atlas snapped irritably, clearly losing his patience. “Ya won’t get nearly as much ADAM, and Tenenbaum gets you to do her dirty work.”

“Sh,” Jack hissed, glaring at him.

“Wha-”

“Sh!” he repeated more harshly, putting up a hand. Atlas fell quiet, and Jack spun to face the little girl again. He walked toward her slowly and she whimpered, skittering back and away from him. She curled up into a ball, covering her face in her arms. Jack’s heart tugged, and after another moment of deliberation, he pressed the plasmid to his forearm.

This one didn’t really hurt. It tingled, sort of, gave him pins and needles all up his arm and down his fingers, but it ended within a matter of moments. Once it was over he knelt before the girl, reaching to rest his hand on top of her head. She snarled at once, pulling backward and trying to bite his fingers. He grimaced, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her still without hurting her and resting his hand on the back of her head so she couldn’t bite.

Slowly, she stopped struggling, and Jack’s palm began to tingle once more. His veins glowed the same hue as the Plasmid, a golden sunshine from beneath his skin. Then, the girl’s veins did the same, all the way across her face and down her tiny arms and legs. She looked shocked at first, going still, then Jack blinked as she made a horrible retching sound.

On instinct he turned her over, letting her brace herself on her hands and scabby knees. She coughed and groaned for another moment, and then she vomited a palm-sized, black slug. Jack reeled back in horror, and stared as Atlas swiftly stabbed it with his knife. It oozed green blood onto the tile, wriggling around wildly for a few seconds before finally going limp. Atlas snatched it up.

The girl shuddered, still coughing and spitting up saliva for a moment, before finally sitting back. She opened up her eyes, and Jack stared. They were a bright, brilliant blue, striking and pinning him in place. Her skin was healthier, as well, still pale but no longer gray. She looked like a completely different child, a life and awareness in her that had not been before.

“…thank you,” she murmured in a small voice. She no longer looked afraid, staring up at Jack like he had hung the sun in the sky.

“You’re welcome,” he replied just as quietly. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, the corners of her mouth lifting just slightly.

“Thank you,” echoed Tenenbaum’s voice, relieved and soft over the radio. “The path of the righteous is not always so easy, yes? I will find some way to reward you. Now, send the little one home through the vent above you. She will know the way.”

Jack nodded, though it felt strange to be nodding at no one, and reached to help the girl to her feet. She took his hand, hauling herself up and wrapping her little fingers around three of his own. He looked up, seeing the circular vent Tenenbaum spoke of in the wall over their heads.

“Alright, little one. Here, I’ll give you a boost.”

He tried to reach for her but she shook her head vigorously, leaning away. He frowned, trying again and blinking when she threw her arms around his waist.

“No! I want to stay with you, daddy.”

“I…I’m not…” Jack wasn’t sure how to respond. He could feel Atlas’ eyes boring into the back of his head.

“Little one,” urged Tenenbaum. “Come home, now.”

The little girl shook her head.

Tenenbaum sighed harshly. “Wonderful. Forcing her into vents will do no good if she will not come back. Give me a moment.” Tenenbaum was quiet as she thought, and Jack couldn’t help resting his hand on the girl’s dirty mop of hair as she continued to cling. “If she will not separate from you, you must bring her home, instead.”

“Not a chance,” Atlas snapped.

“Where can we find you?” Jack interrupted, giving him a hard look.

“My safehouse is in the sewers, beneath Olympus Heights.”

“Boyo.” Atlas sounded well and truly frustrated, now, raking his fingers through his hair and making it stick up at odd angles. “That’s out of our way completely. You wanna get outta here or not?”

Jack frowned at him, then looked down at the girl holding tightly to his sweater. She blinked right back up at him, her eyes wide and eyebrows pulled together in the center.

“We’ll bring her back,” Jack decided. “Maybe she’s just scared. Maybe she’ll go back on her own when we get close.”

Tenenbaum sighed. “Very well. I would ask that…you be gentle with her.”

Jack nodded, once more, to no one. “I will.”

Tenenbaum disconnected.

Jack sank to a crouch, smiling slightly when he was eye-level with the little girl. “Hi. You’re gonna come with us, okay?”

Her face split into a bright smile, and she nodded eagerly. “Okay!”

“Okay. What’s your name?”

She didn’t respond, instead frowning and tilting her head in confusion.

Ah. “Right. Um…” He searched her eyes, once more struck by their color. “Is it okay if I call you Blue? Do you like that?”

Another wide smile, and another eager nod. “Yeah.”

“Alright, Blue it is. Come on.” Jack held out his hand, his eyebrows raising when she stepped into it instead of holding on again. “Wait, hang on - woah!” he gasped, staying very still as Blue climbed him like a tree, settling on his shoulders with her tiny legs hanging on either side of his neck. “Um…alright. That’s fine, I guess.”

“Let’s go, daddy!”

“Call me Jack, okay?” he asked, getting to his feet. He kept his hands on Blue’s knees to help her stay balanced.

“Okay, Jack!”

Ignoring the long, dark look from Atlas, Jack turned toward the door and went back the way they came, holstering his pistol once more. He made it out and into the hallway before there was a hand on his arm, jerking him to a halt.

“Hey, don’t grab me like that,” Jack hissed, glaring at Atlas.

“Boyo,” the man said sharply. “Tenenbaum is playin’ you for a sap. Those things may look like little girls, but looks don’t make it so.”

“I’m not going to leave her behind, and I’m not going to hurt her,” Jack retorted angrily. “Forget it.”

Atlas opened his mouth, then paused, as if warring with himself. Then he closed it, clamping his lips shut until they became thin and white. “Fuck it,” he huffed, shaking his head. “Fine. But I hate it,” he added.

“Noted,” Jack said primly, turning away from him again and continuing on. “Come on, now. We’ve had far more than enough distractions.”

He smirked just a bit at the derisive snort.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year y'all! Hope you had fantastic holidays. Sorry about the wait for this chapter; the holidays caught up with me, and I've been focusing on spending time with family. Love y'all, and hope you enjoy!

_“We all come down here, figured we’d be part of Ryan’s Great Chain. Turns out Ryan’s chain is made of gold, and ours are the sort with the big iron ball around your ankle.” - Peach Wilkins_

* * *

**ATLAS**

Atlas hated this.

He watched stiffly, several paces behind, as Jack carried the little monster he’d decided to adopt on his shoulders. To say she gave him the creeps would be an understatement. Her eyes were no longer vacant, now a bright and piercing blue that Jack had apparently liked so much he named her for them, so that was one improvement. That was about all that had improved, though. She was still dirty, and carried her syringe in her hand like it was a beloved toy, her gaze eerily serene as she stared at their surroundings.

Creepy.

Blue sat up straighter with a start, and some wild part of Atlas’ brain wondered if she could read his fucking mind, before she thrust out a grubby finger straight ahead. “I smell ADAM, Jack!”

Jack frowned, looking up at her and holding more tightly to her legs so she didn’t topple over. “You smell it?”

“Makes sense. So they don’t go drainin’ saps with old blood,” Atlas muttered. “Might as well let her do her thing, boyo. She can give that ADAM to you. Keep you supplied.”

Jack grimaced, looking unsure. “I made her better though, didn’t I? Why does she still want to do it?”

“Mental conditioning,” Atlas sighed, looking around anxiously. He had an odd feeling, like there were eyes on them. Made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “Just let her down, Jack. Ain’t gonna hurt no one; they’re already dead.”

After another moment of hesitation Jack sighed, reaching and lifting Blue off of his shoulders before setting her on her feet. She grinned eagerly, grabbing onto three of his fingers and dragging him along, her other hand still clutching her glinting syringe.

“You seem to know an awful lot about all this,” said Jack, still allowing himself to be pulled. Atlas clenched his jaw as he kept his eyes forward, avoiding Jack’s searching gaze. “Thought you were just a nobody living in the slums?”

“A nobody, but I ain’t stupid,” Atlas retorted, sounding a bit more impatient than he’d meant to; Jack was cottoning on alarmingly quick. “You’ve been around as long as I have, and you pick some things up.”

“Hm.”

Blue let Jack’s fingers go as they approached a corpse, grinning excitedly as she dropped to her knees. Atlas grimaced and averted his eyes as she stuck the long needle into the poor bastard’s chest, pressing the trigger and extracting bright red ADAM from his blood. Jack seemed unable to look away, even as his face went a little white.

“God. Why?” he asked softly, and something odd pulled at Atlas’ heart. “Why little girls? Why…any of this?”

Atlas let out a rough breath through his nose, his eyes anywhere but Jack as he made a show of looking out for Splicers. He opened his mouth to give a half-assed reply but froze, blinking as he noticed a security camera pointed straight at them. He swallowed thickly, a slight chill running down his spine. When he moved a little closer to Jack, the camera followed him.

Fontaine had his eye on them, after all. Trust him not to believe Atlas could handle the job.

“Atlas? You okay?”

Atlas looked away from the camera, faced with Jack and Blue both staring at him, the former looking puzzled while the latter just stared blankly, a vial full of ADAM in her hand. Christ, but Atlas had no idea what the hell Jack saw in that thing.

“I’m fine, boyo. Drink that, and let’s keep movin’.”

He watched as Blue held out the vial to Jack, smiling brightly like she’d just picked him a flower on her way home from school. Atlas supposed the feeling was similar, on her end. Jack took the vial from her carefully, a grimace on his face as he turned it over in his hand.

“I don’t know if I like this stuff, Atlas. I don’t know if it’s worth it.”

Atlas could have sworn he felt the eyes of the security camera on his back, and clenched his teeth as nerves flipped his stomach. “You need it to get outta here, Jack. Like I said, just a little won’t kill ya.”

“I know, I remember, but this seems like more than-”

“Would you kindly drink the stuff so we can keep goin’?”

Atlas felt a bit sick as Jack stopped speaking at once, opening up the vial and downing the contents in three long gulps. He looked away, not wanting to see that look of confusion on Jack’s face when he came back to himself, like he wasn’t sure what had possessed him to comply. Atlas had to admit, he was beginning to wonder that himself. Fontaine hadn’t exactly been forthcoming, his explanations almost certainly intentionally vague. He’s a science experiment, kid, he’d said. Just like those baby frankensteins. Don’t concern yourself with the likes of him.

Easier said than done, Atlas mused, frowning to himself as he watched Jack take Blue’s hand once more.

* * *

“Thank fuck. The bathysphere station is just up ahead.”

“What about Blue?” Jack asked, frowning. “We need to get her back to Tenenbaum.”

Atlas sighed, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. “Look. There’s a vent inside the station, we can stick her in there before we get in the sphere, yeah?”

Jack pulled a face, looking down at the kid still hanging off of his hand. She just smiled brightly up at him, still humming one of the weird songs the freaks were always singing. After a bit of deliberation, Jack nodded, and Atlas tried to quietly release the breath of relief. Almost there.

They pressed forward toward the bathysphere station, keeping their eyes out still for Splicers. It was dark in this part of Rapture, and wet, the steady drip of the many leaks in her walls keeping them tense. Blue didn’t seem as affected, though, skipping along and singing as if she hadn’t a care in the world. They came upon the station, finally, and Atlas’ heart began to race. He took a few deep breaths, trying to keep his head long enough for Fontaine’s plan to come to pass. Well, one part of his admittedly convoluted as shit plan - Provoke Andrew Ryan.

He approached the console, pushing the lever to release the bathysphere, trying it a few times to make it look good before letting out a low grunt.

“Shit’s not workin’. I need you to go up to the control booth and flip the switch; that’ll give the whole station power.”

“We need to send Blue home,” Jack reminded him firmly, making Atlas’ eye twitch.

“We’ll stick her in a pipe once we get the bathysphere workin’,” he snapped. “Happy? Now go on.”

Jack scowled at him, his shoulders squaring up. “You don’t have to be an asshole.”

“You wanna sit around here ticklin’ our arseholes until Ryan’s goons find us?” Atlas asked him sharply, still tense as that feeling that he had eyes on him still lingered.

Jack crossed his arms stubbornly, and Atlas opened his mouth to continue arguing. He got a look at Blue’s creepy eyes, though, welling up and shining with frightened tears at all the shouting and seeming to pierce him straight through the chest. Fuck’s sake, what was happening to him? He took a deep breath through his nose, getting his temper somewhat under control.

“We need that Bathysphere workin’, so we can both get outta here,” he said, slowly and calmly. “So just…get up there, quick, and flip the switch.”

Jack stared at him for a moment longer (Atlas could have sworn he was doing it to make him sweat), before nodding curtly, his lips pursed as he held out his hand for Blue again. She sniffled once and stepped into it, wiping her eyes with her free hand as she used the other for balance. Once she’d clamored onto his shoulders, Jack set off.

Neptune’s Bounty was one of the more decrepit parts of Rapture, it’s infrastructure weakened from multiple bombings that occurred in the area on the New Year’s uprising. Hadn’t been their guys, though, Fontaine had assured him of that. The goal had always been uprising, not mass murder. Trapping people in the city was more Ryan’s deal, not Fontaine’s.

Atlas hadn’t realized he was chewing the inside of his lip, hard, until it started to bleed a bit.

“ _It’s really falling apart back here,_ ” came Jack’s voice over his radio. Still clipped, but that was to be expected. “ _We’re moving quick, but it’s a lot of climbing over shit._ ”

“Story of Rapture,” Atlas snorted. He caught sight of a security camera, pointed straight at him just like the one before. He stood up a bit straighter, eying it warily as he lifted his chin. “Just keep movin’, boyo.”

There were several minutes of silence, Atlas bouncing on the balls of his feet and tapping his fingernails on the bathysphere release console. They needed cutting, he realized inanely. He swallowed thickly as he swore he could hear the whir of the camera lens slowly zooming in on him, a bit of sweat prickling his hairline.

All at once,the lights went black. Atlas tensed, his head whipping up toward the control booth. This was it - Ryan was retaliating. He held his radio close to his mouth as red emergency lights began to flicker to life around the station, casting his surroundings in a dim glow. All part of the plan, but he grimaced as the alarms sounded as well; that was bound to attract some trouble.

“You blow a fuse up there?!” he called into the speaker, keeping an eye on the dark corners of the station. “I can’t see a damn thing in that booth!”

“I don’t know! I hit the switch and everything just-!” Jack’s line went dead.

Atlas frowned, a niggle of unwanted worry at the back of his mind as he wondered if the guy had been set upon by Splicers. He only had a moment with it, though, as he found what he’d been anticipating - forms crawling over the walls, Splicers skittering into the station like insects as they were drawn by the blaring alarms. Atlas pulled his shotgun, setting his teeth as he prepared for a fight. Before he could loose the first shot, though, a worrying hum began to prickle his ears, causing him to flinch a bit. After a moment of looking around frantically for the source he realized it was the bathysphere, the whole damn machine groaning and beginning to vibrate so violently it sent the water it rested in slapping up against the dock.

Before he could register that running might be a good idea, the thing burst into flames, and he was thrown off of his feet.

For a moment he was airborne, and the world was silent save for a dull ringing in his ears. Then he hit concrete, skidding and tumbling several feet and tearing up his back and arms. He landed on his stomach, gasping as he found the wind knocked from his lungs, returning only to be choked by the dense billows of black smoke filling the station. He coughed and hacked, pushing himself up onto his knees. He couldn’t see much, only a faint outline of his own hands braced on the ground, hindered by the dim light and the slowly thickening haze. He grunted as he felt hands clutch him underneath his armpits, yanking him to his feet.

“-las, come on, stand up!”

Atlas blinked, his eyes burning, hearing the voice in a steadily rising volume as if he were coming up from underwater. He could faintly make out Jack, with Blue right at his heel. They both had their mouths covered with their collars, and Blue’s eyes were streaming a bit.

“We need to go, come on!” Jack cried, shouting to be heard over the alarms.

Atlas stumbled as Jack spun him toward the exit and shoved him until he began to run. He followed the example of covering his nose and mouth with his shirt, finding it easier to run when he could breathe. The three of them escaped the bathysphere station, leaving the raging flames and the choking haze behind.

* * *

One thing Rapture’s disrepair was good for was providing plenty of hiding places. If Atlas thought he’d mastered the art of finding shelter, however, he had nothing on Blue.

“This way, Jack!” she stage-whispered, holding onto a couple of Jack’s fingers as she led them down dark, winding halls Atlas wouldn’t ever be caught in alone.

He didn’t have it in him to protest, though, the pain in his body growing worse the longer they walked. By the time Blue had found them a nook in a blasted out hole in a wall, he was nearly sick with it. He crawled in after her and slowly lowered himself to sit, starting to slide down the wall for support and gasping harshly as that just aggravated the scrapes. He opened his eyes when he felt pulling at his shirt, finding that Jack was quickly unbuttoning his shirt.

“What’re you doin’?” he asked around teeth gritted tightly from pain.

“Getting a better look. You got blown up, or did you forget?” Jack told him dryly.

Atlas rolled his eyes, grunting as he sat forward and allowed Jack to push his suspenders off of his shoulders and peel his shirt away. It brought deep blossoms of blood along with it.

“No, I didn’t forget, y’smartass.”

He was distracted by Blue bringing a hand up to her mouth with a soft gasp, her eyes going wide. He pulled at face, put off by her the more time he spent around her. He didn’t know what to do with her when she acted like a child, like a living being.

“Your friend is bleeding,” she murmured, gazing up at Jack with worry pinching her forehead.

Jack nodded slowly, glancing at her briefly before sighing in frustration. “Yeah. I don’t…I don’t have anything to-”

“I’ll be right back,” she chirped, snatching up her syringe from where she’d left it on the floor. “I’ll get stuff to help!”

“Wait, Bl-”

Before Jack could finish the sentence, the little girl had scampered back out into the dark hallway, the soft pitter-patter of her little feet echoing in the high ceiling.

“Finally,” Atlas grumbled. “Let’s move, before she comes back.”

Jack pursed his lips at him, giving him a hard look before taking one of his hands, turning his arm over slowly. “Ouch. That looks like it hurts.”

That was one way to put it, Atlas scoffed to himself. The burn wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but it was still damn ugly. Marled skin and blood, and the damn sting was so sharp it was about all he could focus on. The burn spread intermittently up his right arm, the very worst of it on his forearm and the tip of his shoulder. The rest was minor, the skin irritated more than anything, and bruised to shit. The rest of him felt like he’d been hit by a truck, though he supposed that getting thrown halfway across a large room and landing on concrete wasn’t much different.

“You scared me,” Jack told him quietly, his jaw still set tightly. “Thought…well, I thought something much worse had happened.”

Atlas looked up at him, meeting his eyes with confusion. “Scared you? What the hell were you scared for?”

Jack sighed sharply. “I don’t know, Atlas, I guess I didn’t want you to die, or something.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but nearly had a heart attack as scuffling sounded over Jack’s shoulder. He reached for his shotgun with the hand Jack wasn’t holding, though he dropped it once he realized it was only Blue, crawling back into their hiding place. In her grubby hands she held a white box, a red cross emblazoned on it’s face.

“Oh, well done, little one,” Jack breathed, taking it from her. “Are you alright? Did you get hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she promised, smiling proudly, like she had when she’d given Jack the ADAM vial. “Will that help, Jack?”

“Yes, it will. Thank you,” he smiled, reaching to ruffle her hair. He frowned to himself as she went to settle down in a corner, finding a loose bit of rubble and kicking it around as if it were a toy ball.

Jack opened up the first aid kid and, despite it’s dirty exterior, the bandages and antiseptic inside were pristine. He pulled out the dark bottle and tan roll of material, though he looked around and put the bandages back inside when he found no clean place to put them. He pulled his lips in between his teeth as he worked to unscrew the cap on the antiseptic, his brows still pulled down into that thoughtful expression.

Despite Fontaine’s warnings not to get close to him, Atlas couldn’t help finding him fascinating, the way that he wore every emotion on his face and seemed to always be intently considering something.

“Noticed the kid is startin’ to speak more,” he noted, just for something to say. For some reason, he kind of liked talking to Jack. “Sounds more normal, too.”

“Mm,” Jack agreed, nodding slowly as he began to gently wipe away blood from Atlas’ forearm. He grit his teeth so he didn’t make a sound. “Maybe she’ll get better, the longer she doesn’t have that thing making her sick.”

“Maybe. Still, wouldn’t mind gettin’ her back to Dr. Frankenstein as fast as possible,” Atlas snorted.

Jack didn’t bother responding to him, instead glancing at Atlas’ bloodied shirt and pulling a face. “You can’t put that back on. It’s disgusting.”

Atlas snorted. “Am I supposed to walk ‘round tits out, then?”

“No, you jackass. We need to find somewhere to get things clean. Is there running water still?”

“Aye,” Atlas nodded, hissing slightly as he was caught off guard by a particularly painful pour of antiseptic. “Most of the bathrooms still have it.”

The man’s hands were soft, Atlas realized. Calloused in places, but still soft and gentle. He tried to ignore how they warmed his skin as Jack repositioned him, turning him so he could get to the wounds on his back. It was all Atlas could do to suppress the shiver as those hands rested on his bare waist, pulling him a bit closer.

The pleasant feeling was over as quickly as it had come, as the burn of more antiseptic caused him to arch slightly.

“Fuck me runnin’.”

“Sorry.” Atlas could have sworn he heard a smile, but didn’t bother to look over his shoulder to check.

It was silent as Jack finished his work, wrapping Atlas’ torso, shoulder, and arm up tight with bandages.

“So,” Jack said, snapping the first aid kit shut once more. “Where’s the best place to get cleaned up around here?”

Atlas sat up, still feeling quite sore but significantly better now that he didn’t have open wounds scraping up against stiff cloth to worry about. “Farmer’s Garden is near by. There’s apartments there. Might be able to find a shower.”

“Okay, good. Blue needs cleaning up, too,” Jack added, glancing toward her. She hadn’t looked up the whole time they’d been speaking, but Atlas wasn’t convinced she hadn’t been listening. Kid still made him uneasy.

“Whatever you say, lad. Now, can we get outta this hidey hole? I don’t wanna wait around any longer than we have to.”

They crawled back out into the hallway, Jack now holding the first aid kit in one hand and helping Blue onto his shoulders with the other. As they walked, Atlas squinted into the dark, trying to figure out where the fuck they were. Hopefully they would emerge from the blackness soon, and he could get them back on track. He wondered if the security cameras were working wherever they were, if Fontaine still had his eye on them.

“It was Ryan,” Jack murmured eventually, breaking the silence. “He overloaded the bathysphere. We provoked him.”

Atlas nodded slowly, his heart racing just slightly. He really hoped his expressions were schooled as well as he thought they were; Jack kept getting a little too close to the truth for his comfort.

“I think you’re right about that. See what I mean, now? Ryan’s a tyrant. And now he’s got his eye on you.” Atlas only felt a little guilty as Jack fell silent, clearly unnerved. He pushed a little more. Just a little. “The only way either of us get outta here alive, is if we kill that bastard. He’s made that clear.”

Jack adam’s apple bobbed, his hands tightening just slightly where he held onto Blue’s shins, keeping her from falling down.

“Well,” Jack sighed quietly. “I suppose that settles that, then.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI HELLO HI. Wow I'm so sorry for the unplanned hiatus, y'all. Shit got real wild, my grad school closed down and I had to transfer, then I was applying for internship for my doctorate at the same time that was all happening, tl;dr everything is finally figured out and settled down, and I am back in business. Thank you all so much for the love so far, I really appreciate it and am excited to be back! <3

_“On my walk today I had my first encounter with a pair of them… he, a lumbering palooka in a foul-smelling diving suit, and she, an unwashed moppet in a filthy pink smock. Her pallor was off, green and morbid, and there was a rather unpleasant aspect to her demeanor, as if she were in an altogether different place than the rest of us. …I understand the need for such creatures, I just wish they could make them more presentable.” - Andrew Ryan_

* * *

**ATLAS**

The Farmer’s Garden was one of the easier places to find heavy shadow and hide. Atlas was grateful at least that Jack had begun to pay attention to where he put his feet, although it didn’t help much. He knew that the Splicers could smell the little one, and the ADAM still dripping from the end of her needle. He could have sworn he felt eyes on them as they walked past the abandoned stalls full of rotten food and flies.

“How much further?” Jack asked, his voice muffled as he held his sweater over his nose.

“Just down this hall,” said Atlas, nodding straight ahead. “Residences are down that way. Not many, but a few of them should still have running water, at least.”

“Great.”

The smell stuck with them even as they left the Farmer’s Market and entered the residence halls. Atlas held a hand up to keep Jack and Blue silent, listening hard at each door for activity, and then jostling the handles. Most were locked from the inside, but he finally found one that appeared to be empty and opened up to them easily. He pushed the door back, jerking his head toward the opening.

“Get inside. Hurry now.”

Jack didn’t appear to need telling twice, stepping through the threshold with Blue’s hand wrapped around three of his fingers. Atlas cast a glance down one end of the hall, then the other, before closing the door behind them. He retrieved a rickety chair from off to the side and shoved it underneath the handle, then turned to survey the apartment.

“No flooding,” he noted approvingly, nodding as he followed Jack and Blue further inside. “Good news for the plumbing. Looks pricey, too. Some clothes and shit have probably survived.”

“Seeing as you’re still ‘tits out,’” Jack said, casting a smirk over his shoulder at him. Atlas snorted, ignoring how the look made his guts feel warm. Fucking stupid.

They continued on, their feet crunching bits of paper and other rubble strewn over the dirty carpets. Even in disrepair, Atlas could tell the previous inhabitants had been rich bastards. The ceilings were high, the windows floor to ceiling and bathing the whole place in a bright blue light that you only got when you lived on Rapture’s upper levels. His people got the murky darkness farther below. Made a man go funny in the head, always being in the dark like that.

They passed through a spacious kitchen, the appliances ransacked for parts and the cupboards and fridge nearly all thrown open and empty, before finally finding the bedroom. More floor to ceiling windows, these encompassing the entirety of the far wall. The bed was a canopy, the sheets and duvet still on top if a bit worn and dusty. To the left the door to the en suite bathroom sat ajar, revealing a claw foot tub and duel sinks with a large, dirty mirror.

“You should go get cleaned up first,” said Jack, looking him over. Maybe a second or two too long, though Atlas couldn’t find it in himself to mind. “Your wound will get infected if you stay all dirty like that.”

“I’m goin’.” Atlas pulled open each drawer of the dresser and then threw open the doors of the armoire, both of which were made of a dark and heavy wood. “There we are,” he murmured to himself, yanking a clean shirt and slacks off the hangers inside.

He headed into the bathroom. The door was gone, long-since torn off for scrap or to be used as a barricade, Atlas wasn’t sure which. He made certain that Jack had taken the kid into another room before he stripped off. He kicked his pants aside, his suspenders still hanging off of them and clacking along on the tile, before turning the faucet on the tub. He nodded as water began to trickle down, the pressure quite lousy but steady enough. He carefully removed his bandages and stepped in once it was full, swearing as he realized the water was also bloody fucking freezing. As quickly as possible, he rinsed off the blood from his skin, scrubbing at the bits that had dried and pulled at his body hair. The scrapes on his back stung like a bitch, but he’d had much worse in his time. He grit his teeth through it, tilting his head back to get the blood and grit and old gel out of his hair, as well.

Atlas realized, only when he’d stepped out of the bath soaking wet and shivering, that he had nothing to dry off with. He sighed heavily through his nose, bracing his hands on the counter as he settled in to air dry. He took a look at himself in the mirror, squinting and turning his head this way and that. He needed a shave. He looked like hell, even without the scruff, and felt about good as he appeared. One good thing about Jack’s pushiness about finding a place to clean up - there was an actual bed in the place, and there being only one entrance meant Atlas might actually catch some shut-eye. If only he could get the creeping, crawling sensation off the back of his neck. It hadn’t left since the bathysphere station, like Fontaine still had his eye on him. For all he knew, there were cameras in the damn apartment. Ryan had been the one to mandate where they went, initially, and the slimy fucker certainly wasn’t past putting his sheep under constant surveillance.

Once he was no longer dripping, Atlas pulled on the clothes he’d “borrowed” from the armoire. A pair of mostly clean jeans, crisp and heavy as all things were that rich people owned. The dark sweater was also soft, didn’t itch him around the collar like his own might. Somehow the comfort felt wrong. He pushed up the sleeves, despising having shit hanging around his wrists and hands where they might hinder his shooting, before exiting the bathroom.

He heard rummaging and quiet voices down the hall and followed them, coming upon Jack and Blue in another bedroom, this one smaller with old, dirty toys on the shelves. Jack had a small selection of child-sized dresses draped over his arm in varying colors, observing the inside of the small closet. Like the clothes Atlas had found, the dresses looked mostly in-tact. Jack looked up when he heard him approach, smiling briefly but letting it fall just as quickly. He had a near permanent crinkle between his brows. Atlas had a wild, ridiculous urge to smooth it with his thumb.

“Found a couple things,” Jack informed him, turning away from the closet and laying out the dresses on the bed. Blue was in the corner, building a tower out of filthy blocks she’d found. “I’m not sure which will fit, we’ll have to try them all. I see the water works,” he added, glancing at Atlas’ still-damp hair.

“It does,” Atlas nodded. “Nothin’ to dry off with, that I could see, and it’s bloody freezin’. So have fun.”

Jack snorted, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Thanks for the warning, big guy.”

“Big guy?” He couldn’t help a bit of teasing. Jack’s wit was starting to get to him.

The grin Jack gave him certainly didn’t help. “Yep. Alright, come on, Blue. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Blue’s head lifted the moment she heard her name, her smile bright and wide and her eyes round. Atlas wished she’d tone it down; she still gave him the fucking creeps. He watched her follow Jack out of the room and down the hall, shaking his head as he wondered, yet again, how he’d allowed Jack to keep the damn thing. The girl was not only creepy, but practically catnip for Splicers. Keeping her with them was a death sentence, and even if the Big Daddy she was imprinted with was now gone, that wouldn’t stop others from attacking them when they spotted her, as well. They were basically walking around Rapture with giant targets painted on their asses.

Atlas grunted under his breath, and went to occupy himself elsewhere, deciding to check if the apartment had any supplies still lying around that they could knick. While he was checking the kitchen for non-perishable food, his radio went off and nearly made him piss himself.

“ _Didn’t realize I’d hired you t’play house with the kid, Atlas._ ”

Atlas turned the volume far, far down, glancing toward the bathroom door anxiously. “We’re lucky I’m on my own right now,” he replied in a low voice, backing into the far corner of the kitchen. “I ain’t playing house, I’m staying on his good side. Sir.”

“ _Sure looks like house to me. Am I paying you to do bath time with Tenenbaum’s Frankensteins and play dress up with the rich folks’ shit?_ ”

The shiver returned, sending Atlas’ skin crawling, and that was when he noticed the camera in the far corner of the kitchen. It was small, stuck up in the ceiling and obscured by shadow, but there it was. He swallowed as he stared at it, sweat beading on his hairline as the zoomed function whirred softly.

“No, sir,” he finally replied. “Like I said, I’m just playing along. If I don’t, how am I supposed to make him trust me?”

“ _Fine,_ ” Fontaine conceded. “ _Explain the kid, then. What’s your genius excuse for that?_ ”

“I…Ja-the boy wanted to take her with us.”

“ _I told you the phrase, didn’t I? Did y’forget already? D’ya need a refresher, Atlas?_ ”

Atlas ground his teeth at the growing agitation in his boss’s voice. “No. I can-”

“ _No, you can’t, now,_ ” Fontaine snapped. “ _Because now if you use it, he’ll know somethin’s up. You’re stuck with it now. But you better make sure that whole sideshow gets wrapped up, and wrapped up fast. You don’t want me to have to step in._ ”

No, he certainly fucking did not. “I understand.”

“ _Fucking great. Get a move on, Atlas._ ”

The radio went silent once more. Atlas swallowed around his throat which, he now realized, was bone dry. He passed a hand over his mouth, wiping sweat from his upper lip, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned around to find Blue standing right in the doorway.

“Jesus fuckin’ Mary and Joseph,” he swore, putting a hand to his chest over his racing heart. “How long you been standin’ there?”

“Just a second,” Blue assured him. “I thought I heard talking.”

“Ah, just…talkin’ to myself.”

Now that he’d calmed, Atlas realized just how much of a difference Jack had made to Blue’s appearance. Her hair was clean and in damp pig tails, her skin pink and rosy after being scrubbed clear of the muck that had tinged her nearly gray. Her dress was one of the new ones, blue to match her eyes and nearly pristine with a big bow on the back. Her once-bare feet were now clad in socks and shoes that buckled across the top. She almost looked like a regular girl.

“Are you okay, Mister Jack’s Friend?”

Atlas shook himself out of it, glancing at the camera briefly before nodding and ushering Blue out. “I’m fine.”

“Okay. Will you come play with me?” she asked, stumbling a bit as she tried to stay put as Jack nudged her on her back.

“No. Where’s Jack?”

“In the bath. Please come play with me?”

“No,” Atlas repeated, waving her off. “Go on, now. I’m busy.”

He ignored her pout, relieved when she finally did as he asked and shuffled back to the bedroom filled with toys. He took a deep breath, feeling eyes on him again and knowing it was only the camera, only Fontaine staring him down from across the city. He turned back to the cupboards, and resumed his searching.

* * *

There was no denying he was exhausted, even with Fontaine’s eyes on him and wondering where else in the apartment cameras were hidden. Atlas couldn’t find a good reason to argue, therefore, when Jack suggested they spend the night.

“You need to sleep,” Jack scolded him, his arms crossed over his chest. “You’ll heal better if you rest.”

“It’s mostly healed by now,” Atlas muttered.

Even he knew he was full of shit. Even Blue knew, he was sure, pretending very badly not to listen to them as she played in the center of the living room floor. She’d found an old horse figurine, missing a leg and with most of it’s mane missing, and was slowly and quietly making it gallop over her outstretched legs.

“Just continuing on is a good way to get killed,” Jack pointed out. Atlas sighed heavily in defeat.

“Fine, fine, we’ll stay one night. Happy?”

“Yes.”

Jack smiled at him, patting his cheek, and Atlas was left staring into space for a moment before his mental processes kicked back in.

“There’s only the one bedroom, and the kid’s room,” said Jack. “You take the bed, since you’re injured. I’ll sleep on the couch that’s in there. It still has cushions.”

“Fine.”

Jack nodded, turning to Blue and holding out his hand. “Come on, little one.”

Blue looked up at him, still smiling that wide, adoring smile. Atlas followed them with his eyes as Blue took Jack’s hand and they shuffled off down the hall. He could certainly see why Fontaine thought he was playing fucking house. It didn’t help that having a moment to slow down a bit was giving him far too much time with his thoughts, which had become more and more troubling lately.

Jack’s humanity was beginning to disturb him. Atlas wondered how this man that had been born and raised and bloody crafted to be a killing machine complete with an activation code could be so…much. Funny. Unusually kind. Full of a love that Atlas wasn’t sure he’d ever known before. A love of others that only came from being a truly, deeply good person, from wanting to help others simply because they needed it. A kind of love that people like Atlas, people like Fontaine, couldn’t afford to have, lest it deter them from the necessary actions they needed to take for the greater good. No great change was ever garnered without a bit of blood.

A flash of himself, _would you kindly_ on the tip of his tongue but refusing to push past his teeth as he watched a small, filthy girl climbing upon Jack’s shoulders and calling him ‘daddy.’

Atlas grunted quietly, and headed down the hall.

Jack took a while putting the kid to bed. Atlas wondered with a derisive snort if he was reading her a bedtime story, though not many books in Rapture had survived the flooding. He pulled his borrowed sweater over his head, grimacing as his healing wounds pulled and prickled uncomfortably. He’d definitely be sleeping on his stomach, if he slept at all. He sat down on the bed, kicking off his shoes but leaving his pants, in case they had to make a quick exit. He looked up as the door opened, Jack stepping through and quietly closing it behind him. Jack nodded, and Atlas returned it, unable to help watching him as he moved across the room and sat on the love seat situated underneath the large windows. Jack was a tall man, and Atlas felt a strange twinge of guilt.

“Couch looks tiny,” he noted. “We can switch.”

Jack fixed him with one of those searching looks that froze Atlas in place. “You’re hurt,” he said. “Can’t have you all scrunched up on this old thing.”

Atlas shook his head, snorting quietly. “If you say so, boyo. Don’t come complainin’ to me about your poor back in the mornin’.”

“Oh, I’m sure mine won’t be nearly as bad as yours. How’s that healing, by the way? Do you need the bandages changed?”

“Haven’t looked,” Atlas admitted. “Feels better.”

“Let me see.”

Jack crossed the room and walked around the bed. The mattress dipped as he climbed on and shuffled over, and Atlas waited as he inspected the bandages.

“Well?”

“You have bled through a little,” Jack murmured. “I left the first aid kit Blue found in the bathroom, hang on.”

He was gone and back within in a minute, getting back on the bed with the white kit in his hand. Atlas sat obediently still as Jack unwound his bandages, grimacing only a tad as they pulled at his healing wounds. Luckily nothing was becoming inflamed or festering. Atlas would never admit aloud that it was probably thanks to Jack’s suggestion they all get cleaned up, but…well. It probably was.

The sting of the antiseptic was less intense this time, only a slight burn that Atlas could mostly ignore. More difficult to ignore were Jack’s hands, warm where they touched his skin and lingering long enough that Atlas wondered if it was on purpose. He closed his eyes, focusing on the touch as Jack gently smoothed a balm over the scrapes, and then slowly wrapped them back up with fresh bandages. Once he was finished, his warm palms rested on Atlas’ hips, holding on gently. It was enough to make Atlas look over his shoulder, meeting Jack’s eyes. He found them slightly lidded, the man’s cheeks a little bit flushed. His gaze flickered between Atlas’ gaze and his mouth, and it was only then that Atlas took notice of his lips, as well. They were full, and looked soft, slightly parted almost invitingly.

He’d leaned in a couple of inches before he remembered the cameras, and jerked back so quickly he startled Jack.

“Should go to bed,” he muttered, turning quickly away so he didn’t do anything else fucking stupid. It was silent for a long minute, but he tried to ignore the tension, shuffling and stretching out on top of the covers and rolling so his back was facing Jack.

“Goodnight,” Jack murmured eventually. The weight on the mattress lifted, and the shuffling of socked feet on wood could be heard. Atlas didn’t respond, forcing his eyes tightly shut and clenching his jaw.

_Son of a bitch._


End file.
